First Season Read online

  “If you will wait here, I shall inform Lady Hardwick that you have arrived,” the footman said, shutting the door behind him as he left.

  Hetty looked around the small salon with interest. She had never seen anything like it. The walls had been painted with various Greek designs: urns, swags of honeysuckle, palm trees, and numerous gods and goddesses. A finely woven carpet with a central floral motif surrounded by a border in the Greek key design covered the floor, and four elaborate Corinthian columns stood in the center of the room. Hetty had a sensation of having stepped back in time into a Greek temple. Her aunt must have decorated in the latest mode, she thought appreciatively. Hetty was accustomed to houses with ceilings of dark-aged oak beams and walls covered with heavy tapestries, and the light, airy feeling of this room was a pleasant novelty. She took a turn about the room, admiring the furnishings, and then sat on a delicate chair to wait for her aunt.

  A few minutes later the click of steps on the marble floor of the wall warned Hetty someone was approaching and she stood, eager to greet her aunt. The footman opened the door and a handsome woman of middle age entered, followed by a girl who looked to be near Hetty’s own age. Hetty took a step step forward, intending to kiss their cheeks, but something about the women’s demeanor restrained her and Hetty stood silently, taking in their appearance. Her aunt was a handsome and rather imposing woman, if a bit heavy and with improbably fair hair. Her cousin was also rather plump, and had light brown hair and pale blue eyes. Both mother and daughter were clad in fashionable gowns of thin muslin, the sight of which drew an inaudible sigh of envy from Hetty.

  A look of dismay crossed the faces of Lady Hardwick and her daughter as they surveyed Hetty, and Hetty looked down at her gown deprecatingly. “I know I must look a fright after the journey. Please forgive my appearance,” she apologized.

  “Of course. One never looks one’s best after days of travel. You need not apologize,” Lady Hardwick said graciously as she recovered from her shock at the sight of Hetty and stepped forward. “I am your Aunt Ernestine, and this is your Cousin Sophie. We are pleased to welcome you to London.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to sponsor me this Season, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty said after curtseying to her aunt. She turned to her cousin. “And thank you for agreeing to share your come-out with me, Cousin Sophie. I have so looked forward to having a cousin my age with whom to be friends,” she said, daring to step forward and give her cousin a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Sophie returned the kiss halfheartedly, causing Hetty a moment of hurt which she quickly routed by reminding herself that she could not expect her cousin to be friends right off. It would take time to get to know each other. Perhaps Sophie was a bit diffident.

  “No doubt you will wish to freshen up from your journey,” Lady Harwick suggested to her niece as she picked up a bell from a small table and rang it briskly. “Show Miss Biddle to her bedchamber,” she instructed the footman who promptly appeared at the doorway.

  She turned back to her niece. “I shall have your supper sent to you on a tray tonight, as I am certain you will wish to retire early after the fatigues of such a long journey. We shall become better acquainted in the morning.”

  With more words of thanks Hetty took her leave of her aunt and cousin and followed the footman from the room.

  Sophie closed the door to the salon as soon as the footman and Hetty had left and turned to face her mother accusingly.

  “You told me she was horse-faced.”

  “I told you her mother is,” Lady Hardwick countered as she lowered herself into the chair Hetty had vacated and motioned her daughter to sit as well. “How Gwendolyn and her uncouth husband managed to produce a daughter like Henrietta, I cannot imagine,” she muttered.

  “Could we not send her back?” Sophie pleaded, rising and pacing the floor in her agitation.

  “Don’t be nonsensical,” Lady Hardwick said firmly, although she did not like the situation any better than did her daughter. It was most unfortunate that Henrietta had turned out to be a beauty. She would have some trouble with her daughter, she could see. Sophie had realized at once that she would be outshone by Henrietta and Lady Hardwick decided she had best deal with the situation immediately.

  “We have already spent a great deal of the money Squire Biddle sent for his daughter’s expenses this Season, and I have told many of my friends I am sponsoring my niece. I do not wish it to appear that I am not doing my duty. And you are forgetting Henrietta’s money will open doors to us this Season that would otherwise remain closed.”

  Sophie recognized the truth of her mother’s words, but she was still far from reconciled to the situation. “We cannot be presented together,” she wailed. “She will far outshine me.”

  “Not necessarily,” Lady Hardwick said slowly. “At least the girl appears biddable. Perhaps all is not lost.” She noted Sophie’s unenthusiastic response and the sullen look that appeared on her face, and elucidated.

  “There are ways we may prevent Henrietta from appearing to her full advantage. Do not forget, I am in charge of her wardrobe. I shall order only the most unbecoming styles and colors. And her manner is quite provincial; you will far outshine her despite her looks.”

  Sophie sat back down and gradually allowed herself to be somewhat pacified, but Lady Hardwick could see that her daughter had conceived an intense hatred of the cousin she had been willing to patronize and condescend to before she had seen her beauty.

  Hetty followed the footman to a small bedchamber on the ground floor, where she found Daisy busily unpacking her trunks, and looked around the room with pleasure. Lady Hardwick had assigned her niece to the smallest and most unfashionably decorated bedchamber, but Hetty did not know this, and thought the room charming. The furnishings included a small bed with gracefully carved posters, several square-backed Chippendale chairs, a matching mahogany writing desk, a washing stand, and a breakfast table with a latticed compartment for food. A flowered carpet in soft pinks and greens felt deliciously soft beneath her feet. As Hetty turned slowly around admiring the room, the faint feeling of unease that had come with the restrained welcome she had received from her aunt and cousin retreated, and her excitement at being in London returned.

  “Is it not beautiful, Daisy?” she asked, looking appreciatively about the room. “Aunt Ernestine has such a modishly decorated town house. She and Cousin Sophie were dressed in the latest fashions, too,” she added. “It will be wonderful to have a London wardrobe. I am certain I shall enjoy this Season above all things.”

  “I hope so, miss, I am sure,” Daisy replied as she continued unpacking.

  Something in her maid’s tone caused Hetty to ask, “Do you not like it here, Daisy?”

  “It is only that the other servants here appear to be quite top-lofty, and looked at me as though I had a smut on my nose.” Daisy confessed.

  “They will come to accept you with time,” Hetty encouraged her young maid. “I shall see to it that you have new gowns as well, and soon no one will be able to guess that we have never been to London before.”

  Hetty awoke early the next morning to a medley of unfamiliar sounds. For a moment she did not know where she was, and felt uncomfortably disoriented. Then as full consciousness slowly returned she recalled where she was and a feeling of joy coursed through her. She was in London! Hetty slipped from her bed and ran to the window to see what was occasioning the racket that had woken her, but was disappointed to find the window overlooked a bare yard and carriage house. The only sign of life was a servant girl crossing the yard to begin her duties. Hetty remained at the window nevertheless, dreaming of the Season before her.

  “Here’s your hot water, miss,” Daisy said as she entered the bedchamber and poured it into the basin.

  Hetty left the window to wash and prepare for the day. She had dressed and Daisy was brushing Hetty’s lustrous dark hair when a knock sounded at the door and a maid entered the room with a breakfast tray. After a quick bob to Hetty, she placed
the tray on the breakfast table and left. Daisy patted a final curl dark curl into place on her mistress’s head and Hetty seated herself before the breakfast tray, curious to see what was served for breakfast in London. She discovered the pot was filled with chocolate and a plate held paper-thin slices of bread with butter. Hetty looked at the bread wonderingly.

  “Look how white the bread is, Daisy,” she said, breaking a piece off and holding it out for her maid to sample. “Even the bread is finer in London,” she said, biting into a piece. A surprised look came over her face.

  “How odd it tastes, does it not?” Hetty asked her maid, slathering the rest of her bread with butter to mask the taste.

  Daisy bit into hers cautiously. “So it does. Wonder what’s in it?”

  “I do not know. I suppose we are accustomed to country foods,” Hetty replied, unaware that London bakers added chalk, alum, and bone ashes to their bread to make it whiter. She finished the bread and drank her chocolate gratefully, noting that the chocolate, at least, tasted the same as that she had in Derbyshire.

  By the time Hetty finished her choclate, the hour was nearing ten o’clock. Deciding her aunt and cousin must have arisen by that hour, Hetty gave a quick look at herself in the glass to be sure she appeared her best, and ventured into the hall to find Lady Hardwick.

  Hetty did not see her relatives in the salon she had been received in the prior afternoon, and, spying a footman approaching down the hall, asked him to direct her to her aunt.

  “I believe her ladyship is in the Great Salon, Miss Biddle,” the footman informed Hetty, and upon her expressing her ignorance as to its location, offered to show her to the Great Salon. Hetty followed the footman up a staircase with a wrought-iron balustrade to the first floor landing and into a large salon decorated attractively in the neoclassical style with Greek columns, busts of gods and goddesses, and symmetrical stucco designs. The walls were not painted as they had been in the smaller salon below, but were covered with ivory damasked silk. Several armchairs and sofas were artfully arranged around two carved marble fireplaces, and gilt side chairs stood against the walls. Lady Hardwick sat in a comfortable-looking armchair near one of the fireplaces, perusing a letter.

  “Good morning, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty greeted her.

  “Good morning, Henrietta,” her aunt responded, setting the letter aside. “I trust you are recovered from the fatigues of your journey?”

  When Hetty assured her she was, Lady Hardwick motioned her niece to a chair upholstered in ivory satin damask.

  “We have a great deal to do to make you presentable for the Season,” her aunt began in a businesslike manner as Hetty sat down. “We shall shop this morning and order you a new wardrobe. You must have new gowns before you attend any entertainments,” she announced as she gave a disparaging look at Hetty’s simple morning gown.

  “Then,” Lady Harwick continued in a tone of voice that indicated Hetty was in for a rare treat, “we have been invited to attend dinner at the home of the Duchess of Grimwold. You have not had your come-out ball yet, but since you are only having an informal come-out and will not be presented at court, it will be acceptable for you to attend. In any event one does not refuse a duchess. Her grace wishes to be the first to have the new heiress appear at one of her entertainments.”

  Lady Hardwick’s announcement had all the effect on her niece she could have wished, and Hetty’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. She, Hetty Biddle, a simple squire’s daughter, was to dine with a duchess! Her aunt’s reference to her niece as an heiress passed over Hetty’s head.

  “Will there be time to shop for a new wardrobe and be ready for dinner within three hours?” Hetty worried aloud.

  Her aunt looked at her in surprise. “Three hours? What do you mean, Henrietta, do you think dinner is at one o’clock? Only the servants have dinner at midday. This is London, Henrietta. We normally dine at eight. Supper is at eleven. If one desires to have something between breakfast and dinner, one may have a small nuncheon.

  “I realize you are used to country ways, Henrietta, but you must endeavor to disguise this as much as possible. Nothing will sink you so quickly in the eyes of Society as to appear provincial. It would also reflect on your cousin and myself. I hope you will endeavor to behave at all times so as to be a credit to us.”

  Hetty felt abashed. She would not wish her manners to cause her aunt and cousin any embarrassment, especially given their kindness in sponsoring her for the Season.

  “I shall do my best, Aunt Ernestine,” Hetty assured her aunt. “I admit that I am not familiar with all the ways of Society here in London, but I shall try my best to learn and be a credit to you.”

  Lady Hardwick looked satisfied and rose, saying briskly, “Now, if you are ready, Henrietta, I shall summon Sophie and we shall proceed to the modiste’s.”

  The new carriage, bought with the squire’s money, delivered the Hardwicks and Hetty to Madame Chennault’s, Pall Mall, in style. Refugees from the troubles in France had been arriving in London for several years, and the English ladies of the haut ton had been quick to discover that many of these displaced Frenchwomen made superior modistes. Madame Chennault was one of the most exclusive.

  They were attended by Madame Chennault herself, who had already heard of the young heiress Lady Harwick was sponsoring. The modiste showed the three women into a private room and gave them pattern books to look through while assistants brought materials for their inspection. Hetty and Sophie eagerly turned the pages of the pattern books, both intent upon choosing gowns of the latest style.

  “Look, Mama, may I have a gown made up like this one?” Sophie asked, pointing to a drawing of a short, full frock worn over an elaborately trimmed underdress.

  “That is the tunic dress, Lady Hardwick,” Madame Chennault explained. “It is the rage in Paris, and is only now being introduced here in London.”

  Lady Hardwick looked at the drawing critically.

  “I think not,” she decided. “The layered fullness would not enhance your figure, Sophie. This would be more appropriate,” Lady Harwick added, pointing to a drawing of a simple gown in the Grecian mode. “The clean lines and soft folds of this gown will suit you better. In pale blue muslin and peach sarcenet, I think.”

  Lady Hardwick continued to select patterns and materials for her daughter’s and her own wardrobes rapidly and with an unerring eye for the styles and colors that were most flattering. Then she turned her attention to her niece.

  “Perhaps the tunic dress for Miss Biddle,” Madame Chennault suggested. “The style would look charming on such a slight figure.”

  “No,” Lady Hardwick said, looking at her niece assessingly. “This one, I think,” she said, pointing to a drawing of a frock with a fitted bodice.

  The Frenchwoman looked at the pattern dubiously, clearly uncertain whether to offer her opinion on its suitability for the smaller girl.

  “In the fawn-colored muslin and sage-green silk,” Lady Hardwick instructed.

  At this choice of colors, Madame Chennault, an astute businesswoman, realized that Lady Hardwick was intentionally ordering unflattering gowns for the heiress. Looking at the two girls sitting together, the modiste understood. It was natural a mother would not desire her daughter to be outshone by another. It was a pity, though, for Miss Biddle would have been a joy to dress attractively. Lady Hardwick was paying the bills, however, so Madame Chennault gave a Gallic shrug and aligned herself with the older woman.

  “Of course, Lady Hardwick, excellent choices,” she said, making the notation.

  Lady Hardwick went on to select the rest of Hetty’s wardrobe without any input from her niece, disappointing Hetty, who had looked forward to selecting her own gowns. Ruthlessly squelching a tiny flicker of resentment, Hetty reminded herself how stylish her aunt and cousin always looked, and made no audible protest.

  After finishing at the modiste’s, the three women proceeded to the milliner’s and then the haberdasher’s for hats, gloves, shoes, p
arasols, fans, and other accessories. Hetty was overwhelmed by the variety of goods available, and would have liked to browse among the plethora of goods for hours, but Lady Hardwick cut their shopping expedition short at twelve, reminding the girls they must have time to prepare for dinner at the Duchess of Grimwold’s.

  Early that evening Hetty dressed for her first London dinner out with a feeling of great anticipation. Lady Hardwick, being certain nothing Hetty had brought from Derbyshire would be suitable, had instructed Sophie to lend Hetty one of her gowns to wear, a pink chemise-robe that fastened from neck to hem with tiny shell buttons. The gown was large for Hetty’s slight figure, but Daisy skillfully pinned it to fit, and as Daisy brushed and arranged Hetty’s hair in front of the glass, Hetty felt she hardly knew herself, she looked so fine. What an experience it would be to write home about, dining with a duchess!

  “There, miss, you are ready to go,” Daisy said as she brushed a final dark curl into place, “and no one will look finer, I am sure.”

  Hetty could not help but agree with her maid, and ran upstairs to join her aunt and cousin in the Great Salon with confidence in her appearance. But much of her self-assurance vanished at the door when she noted her relatives’ toilettes. Lady Hardwick was surprisingly imposing in a gown of cream and gold striped silk, and Sophie, clad in a white muslin gown edged in trim of a classical motif, looked refreshingly ingenuous. Hetty felt her own borrowed gown looked overly fussy in contrast. But soon, when she got her new gowns, she would look equally fine, Hetty consoled herself as she bade her aunt good evening.

  Lady Hardwick scrutinized Hetty carefully and nodded her approval. “You do know how to behave yourself, I hope, Henrietta? You have attended dinners in the country?” she questioned her niece.

  “Yes, of course, Aunt,” Hetty reassured Lady Hardwick. “Many times.”